


Underneath

by RanOutofBatteries



Series: To the people we know [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Family, Gen, heart of gold - Freeform, orphan children but you've thought of them as surrogate family, take them by storm dude, the self-driven child, you got this, you're strong and it shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RanOutofBatteries/pseuds/RanOutofBatteries
Summary: You fall down.(There are monsters here, monsters whose souls you found as beautiful as the ones aboveground. They open up to you, and you find yourself regaining the family you'd never lost.)





	1. Chapter 1

 

You stumbled up the mountain trail, hiccuping every couple of seconds as you kicked up dirt and scrambled for a foothold when you became too unsteady on your feet. In your right hand was a dimly colored bottle, reflecting light from the moon when it tilted just the right way. Warily your eyes trailed upwards, eyes narrowing in a feverish manner. It was almost completely devoid of dark clouds overhead, so there would be no thunderstorms in the distance for a while.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

For a brief change of pace, you had decided to take a hike out near Mt. Ebott. The winding dirt pathways all led to the same place, and walking alone for a midnight stroll seemed like a very good idea at the time. In fact, it still was a great idea: the warm winds hit you, and you sobered a bit as you turned your face to the sky.

"It's quiet out."

It was true: normally the crickets would be humming, but tonight there was no sound except for the warm whistling of winds. You could vaguely make out the silhouette of a deer that had bolted from the sound of your scuffling, but other than that there were no other animals nearby, either. Maybe you've been a bit too loud in your stomping.

You clutched your left side with a sudden shuddering cough, feeling along the skin for the bandages. Knife wounds, from a boy who didn't know any better. You could've dodged it, but it would've been easier to catch him if you didn't. One mistake out of a few. You wouldn't miss the stitches for sure, but you did feel the slightest pang of regret at the traumatized expression the kid had when he came back to his senses. Nobody needed to see that much blood in their lives.

The alcohol did ease off some of the pain, but you despised drinking and this was a one-time thing when you kept waking up howling due to the excruciating pain in your side. All your remaining pills had been used up for the remaining kids.

Unfortunately, your grip on the bottle was not as tight as it should've been, and with your observations it fell out of your hands and made its way into a nearby bush. You nodded after it briefly, frowning. Littering was bad. You should go pick that up.

The bottle was wedged in between a branch and a large rock face that dipped below eyesight, blocked by various ferns and overgrown plant growth in the way. You peered over the edge, shifting so that you could sling a leg over accordingly and reach it, but you halted just as fast. Eyes widening, you stepped back a bit, skidding back due to your lack of control over small motor skills. You should be careful of falling in by accident - or, in this case, a bout of drunken clumsiness. 

There was a giant hole in the ground.

Markings scuffed along the edges haphazardly along the dirt, almost like rune markings. Symbols, some that were almost white in color when reflecting the moon's light, were written in a language you did not understand and had no chance of decoding properly. A sense of dread crept up your spine at the very thought of going too close to them.

There was an unnatural cut to the angle in which the hole was dug, almost as if it had been by a cookie cutter and only the pieces left behind were remaining. The symbol right in front of you, specifically, looked familiar. Three triangles, upside down, and the design of what looked like an angel with wings planted directly in the center. You weren't sure where exactly you had seen it before, but it was interesting enough that you wanted to draw it on a notepad. 

Warily, you reached for the bottle and jerked back before anything snapped at you.

Nothing.

Turning the glass over in your hands, you shoved the bottle deep into your hoodie pocket before picking up a decently-sized rock and chucking it downward. You waited for the sound of a telltale thump, but there was no noise to be heard. Brow furrowing, you dimly reached for another one before you heard it. It had reached the bottom with a faint  _clink._ You probably wouldn't have heard it if you hadn't been listening carefully.

Something on your skin felt electrified, as if lightning was about to strike. There was a quiet ringing in your ears that would not leave, and you trusted your instincts entirely: this place meant danger.

You scrambled away from the hole, shuddering harshly with a scowl. You felt a sense of ominous foreboding creep over you and promptly slapped the back of your neck to get rid of the feeling. Bringing yourself back to your knees, then your feet, you slowly began to head back to the trail. The night air was getting to you, you thought, rubbing your hands over your arms as you looked up at the sky again. It was time to go home.

Your clothes tugged at your neck.

You yelped as you were held back by the back of your hoodie. The fabric was constricting and you quickly backpedaled so that you wouldn't choke yourself to death. You turned your head, expecting it to have been caught on a low-hanging branch or bramble, only for you to stiffen with horrified surprise.

What was supposed to be a branch was instead a figure, one hand outstretched, holding your clothing without speaking or moving any further. You hadn't even heard his footsteps approaching, where did he come from? You squinted your eyes, unable to see very clearly as a cloud had just passed over the moon mere seconds before, and you waited until the piteous light was visible again for a ray to dance across his face. Your eyes widened.

There was a man - a skeleton - staring back. Molten bones: where they melting? Was he melting? His clothes were all black, he's melting and his clothes are too - long white phalanges have taken hold on your hoodie, and as you tense he stares back with that same, melting grin, one scar across his left eye and another just reaching past his chin. There were strange glowing lights embedded deep into his sockets, and you were unsure what exactly they were coming from. 

Your eyes darted down. His hand was composed of more bones, and instead of melting you saw small lines of code, flickering in and out as if being eaten away like a virus. You wanted to shake your head and try to clear your eyesight, wondering if this was a hallucination, but panic was starting to set in and you only had one thing on your mind now.

Your mind froze, and you did the first thing you thought of without a word of complaint: you hit him square in the face.

He phases through your hand, his image disappearing, and you leap back to regain ground and any semblance of intimidation, turning so that your injured side was away from him. However, with your attention entirely trained on the strange being before you, your feet never catch ground. Your face shifts as the sky falls behind you, and you realize that you had stepped past solid earth and-

 _Fucking_  hell.

The ground had crumbled beneath your feet, and so you flung a hand out to grab hold of the clothes on the melting skeleton. You were not going down alone, and you prayed to the lord that this skeleton was smart enough to pull back enough that you could be carried out as well. The grinning creature's face morphed into briefly concealed shock. He flickered - wait, what - but instead of teleporting out, his eyes widen as he tipped along with you instead, down into the abyss.

Winds flying, you fly backward as your vision narrows until the sky becomes a pinprick above your head. You can only grunt with grim disapproval as you hurtled down below. 

_Man, I wanted to go and see my parents one more time._

You maintained a tight grip on the skeleton's clothes, pulling him closer to glare in his direction and making sure that he stayed directly above you and in your sights. The fall only needed to damage one person, after all. He still seemed a bit struck, most likely by his inability to do his weird illusion trick. The taunting aggress when you attempted to fight him didn't help matters, either, but...

The skeleton was most likely a foe. You vaguely remember stepping backwards, the hole had been in front of you, and the skeleton had been in between. You were sure you had been on solid ground when you did begin to step back, but when you fell suddenly your perspective had shifted.

Your eyes lock with the suddenly terrified melting man.

Before you could open your mouth, the surroundings shifted again, and you felt the sting of irritation as you felt your body begin to stretch.  
  
"What-"

The skeleton raised a hand, and you tensed up, ready to dodge any attack he might have thrown at you. However, he simply placed it over yours, the hole in the middle of his palm pressing strangely against the back, and tried to pull it off. You shook your head, face turning in annoyance as he tried to get you to let go. You were still angry, but you didn't want him to die, either. You heard the cavern open up below you and pulled him closer instead, curling around him.

The ground was nearing. You don't feel it.

There was only black for a long, long moment. You supposed that you had fallen unconscious at some point, and maybe shock had gotten hold (the fall should've been fatal), because when you slowly regained consciousness you were unsure whether you were hallucinating or you were actually in an entirely different place of scenery.

You drifted in and out for a very strenuous period of time, mental state thoroughly and completely disjointed. There was the sound of crackling, similar to the sound of a large campfire, and there was a brief spark that settled at the center of your forehead. There was a flash of multicolored chaos along the back of your lids, and you briefly felt discomfited when it grew too bright to ignore, but then that settled down as well.

When you finally jolted awake, you felt a sharp pang of - relief? - before your fingers curled, your legs twitched, and you regained feeling in the rest of your body. Your eyes moved once you realized you were lying in a bed of golden flowers.

"What in the..."

You were still alive. That was a surprise to you.

Faintly you could see the outline of your hand, encased in the light streaming from the cracks above, and your eyes trailed upward as you frowned slightly.  _It was dark when I went up the mountain. I passed out for more than seven hours. A day? No, probably not._

You glanced upward, still lightheaded and various thoughts forming vaguely. If you had fallen as far as you thought you had, then how could the light still reach down to the bottom of the hole? Who the hell had thought of digging a hole this deep in the first place? The walls were oppressive, lacking any form or structure and curving in like an upturned bowl, and you quickly got to your feet. You paused accordingly. Nothing was broken.

_Strange, but nice. I'll leave that issue for later._

You trailed after the path thoughtfully, glancing behind to give the flowers one last stare. Nothing moved. You could feel eyes somewhere, though, and carefully you shoved your hands into your pockets. You traveled up past the flowers and into the ruins.

The walls were dark in color but strangely pleasing to look at. You peered closer, noticing the runes etched into the sides. They were lighter markings, ones that you traced a hand over slowly. Triangles. A circle with wings. A language you did not understand. It was difficult to move past them, but eventually you did manage to draw your eyes away.

Now that you were coherent, you became worried about the skeleton you had fallen down with. He'd most likely gained a lot of ground. You had some questions for that guy.

There were patches of light up ahead that you noticed as you continued on. It made you smile a bit as you stepped through them eagerly, stepping from stone to stone. There was the faint sound of birdsong, but it seemed implausible and was more likely a trick of the mind. You blink once you notice what was off, hand coming up to rest against your side. The pain in your hip was gone, too.

A yellow flower petal flickers in the corner of your vision and your head instantly turns, stance changing. A lone flower sprouts out of the soil, ground shaking as if straining to release its roots. Its petals unfurl with a swift (unnatural) movement, and when its head turns you can see two bright, beady eyes land on you.

"Howd-"

You flung your bottle at the voice and sprinted. You could hear the smash of glass shattering and loud shrieking, but you left no time to waste. Vaulting over a pillar, you ducked under for cover and picked up the closest thing to a weapon, which just happened to be a decently-sized rock.

"H-hey, hey, calm down, there," the voice said, but it seemed farther away this time. Good. "You can trust me. Can you, uh, come out?"

You tilt your head. The flower might be unaware of where exactly your location was due to the threat of the glass, and it may be biding its time. Ignoring for the moment how strange it was (a flower, you're fighting a fucking flower), you fling the rock somewhere to your right, behind a similar-looking pillar that would also have sufficed as a hiding place. The stone makes a loud  _clunk_  against the ground.

Immediately, five different thorny vines burst out of the wall and pierce themselves into the empty space where the rock had landed.

_Okay, definitely an enemy._

There is a brief period of time as the flower waits, but nothing else responds. The vines slowly retract, and you watch carefully as you listen to the flower's angry muttering. Your eyes close and you continue to count down from twenty before chucking another piece of rubble you've found. It makes a smaller  _thunk_ against solid earth, but this time no thorns come.

You stand fully and creep away, making sure to stick to the shadows.

This all felt like a fever dream. In fact, you were counting on it being a fever dream. The lack of pain made sense as well. You reached down and pinched the back of your left hand, frowning when you felt the brief spark of discomfort. Well, not entirely.

Trust never came so easily. You bared your teeth at the flower's last question, feeling for any scrapes on your palms from scrabbling for something to throw. Asking for blind faith from a stranger, who dared to actually try that? You've managed to read the movements that gave false impressions well: it wasn't hard, after watching people's interactions for so long. That flower had been faker in both expression and voice than anything you'd seen before.

(That often meant they had something to hide.)

You kept bandages wrapped around your left leg for emergencies. You unwrapped them with ease, pulling tight as you wound them quickly around your knuckles and formed a fist. It gave a bit. Satisfactory, whenever you felt the need for hand-to-hand. Unfortunately, these creatures seemed to have some sort of long-range fighting.

You hear the swift patter of feet against tile, and you duck behind an upright pillar. A figure emerges from the corridor, horns tipped back and sleeves drawn to cover clawed pads. Your heart catches in your throat.

It's a goat monster.

The flower and the skeleton are no comparison to the sheer height the woman has. Although all senses point to her being intimidating, you are tugged to your feet as she glances around carefully. The symbol on her dress was the same as the one aboveground, something you decided to keep in mind. She gave off a kindly, maternal aura that the flower creature could not hope to replicate through body language alone: her shoulders were set forward a bit, as if careful not to be overbearing and watchful of smaller humans. Children.

You were no longer a child.

Once the creature had taken note of her surroundings and eyed the new cracks in the wall warily (you noticed the older ones as well: at least you knew where they came from now) she left just as quickly, robes swishing behind her. You maneuver around the pillar and continue on your way, one hand to the wall as you continue along the path.

The monsters you encountered were passive, mostly: you fled before you could spend too much time with any of them. The puzzles and traps were not too troublesome, but setting off the spikes made too loud a noise for comfort, so instead, you held onto the side as you dropped below or jumped over them using momentum.

Twice, you had seen yellow flicker in the corner of your eye, but when you turned sharply it was gone. The flower was definitely still tracking you, due to the lack of golden flowers further down the ruins as the light begins to fade. You keep yourself tense.

The brief fluttering of translucent cloth beckons you. You squint as you tread closer, unsure whether or not it was just a stray piece of fabric. A ghost lay in your path, eyes shut and snoring. Well, more like saying the letter "z" repeatedly without a pause in breath.

"Hi" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and the ghost jerks a bit as his head turns to you. You smile a bit. Seeing so many monsters around was nerve-wracking, to say the least, but this one seemed docile right off the bat: the closed eyes, relaxed expression, and the lack of nervousness of interaction. It's an innocent position, and you are briefly reminded of the boy whose wounds you'd tended to. You lean back a bit so you aren't peering down right over him. "Are you okay?"

"Oh..." The ghost seemed rather surprised by the question, nodding forward as continued to lay on the floor. "N-no. But thanks anyway..."

You sit down beside him, leaves shaking a bit as you do so. "What's wrong, dude?"

The ghost is surprised as you sit down, but as the question registers he sighs. You've heard that tone before. You laugh a bit, which seems to cheer him up. "Tough day, huh? That's cool. We all have bad days."

"I..." He looks up at you this time. "Thank you...I've never had a conversation last this long before..."

You laugh louder this time, grinning widely. The ghost seems to smile a little. "Hahaha! Well, I can fill up a whole conversation by myself, you know. Don't worry about talking too much with me, because that's all I'll be doing."

You've had a kid like this before: one girl you'd taken in had spoken little, and the caretakers had been worried that no one would adopt a child with such a shy disposition. You'd filled up the spaces by talking, and although she didn't respond much she seemed to enjoy the company. You'd taken to her with the ease of an older sibling, and she'd grown attached faster than anyone had expected. You'd appreciated her sentiment.

"You're doing great, kid." You gaze off into the distance a bit distractedly, unaware of the way he startles a bit as he starts and listens to your words, intense. "And you're gonna do great in the future, too. Don't sweat it too much, a'ight?"

"You're..." You pause, looking down at him again. He's shuffled up a bit so his back is to the wall, but he's levitating slightly off the ground. You have no clue whether or not he's able to phase through the wall if he's not careful enough. "You're a human, but you're so nice... Thank you..."

"It's fine, dude." You tip your head forward slightly. "I'll see you around."

"I'm Napstablook," he blurts out before you get up again. He floats a bit higher now, and his expression seems a bit lighter as well. "Oh no...don't feel pressured to tell me your name, though..."

"Call me Z," you say, your smile turning amused. Napstablook "eeps" and begins to fade away. (You wonder whether or not his physical appearance is connected to any tangible object or whether it was related to magic. Light particles didn't need to exist, apparently.) "Bye-bye!"

"See...you..."

The last "Z" was a quiet murmur, fond in its inflection, and you chuckle under your breath as you pass through the narrow entryway.

And all the while, the flower watches.

 


	2. Chapter 2

it be like that sometimes

* * *

You didn't trust in fairytales.

The orphanage's library held a meager collection of books, but within the shelves and the dog-eared pages there were a couple of happy endings that the children wanted to be read every night. The caretakers gave up on confiscating the bedtime hours, since you did manage to get them all to fall asleep before ten. And you? You picked up a new one and kept reading, because you liked to see how stories ended.

You've heard folklore mainly from word of mouth, told by the elderly that came by to interact with the younger orphans. (They were kinder, more open than the people that came to adopt them. That in itself told many things.) The grandmother was a fantastic storyteller, each of her claims being vivid and more outlandish than the last, but you ate it up anyway: the wishing well, the mushroom rings that gave way to the fairies, the lights that led many astray. The one you noticed most was the one about Mt. Ebott: the hole in the ground. Once upon a time, six souls had fallen to their graves. The seventh would save them all.

You enjoyed the company, and so did the children. They've always cared a bit more about fairytales than you, though, so you couldn't complain.

There was a foundation to your rules and regulations when dealing with adults: don't keep eye contact for too long, stand as straight as you could, keep your expression neutral. To this house of wild children, with dreams stretching as wide as the skies above them, you played the role of the housekeeper. The matrons played the adults who came, but you had confided in these kids like the eldest maintained secrecy. Your orders were unquestioned.

You've overheard the financial instability of the orphanage. The caretakers had governmental backing, but there was just barely enough to manage, and you've heard that they might send some of the children out to the other orphanage hours away from this one. Less mouths to feed. You'd prayed that if stories like the ones you'd heard were true, then the days would be kinder.

"What was your home like?" You remember asking the old woman once, curiosity overtaking you. In her experience, she had mentioned stories of the place she had lived in throughout her life, but she had yet to tell the name of the actual place.

"I lived in the grasslands, once, but I'm assuming that's not what you were asking for." She had laughed, loud and clear and  _strong_  despite being so wrinkled with age. Her shriveled hand reached out and wrapped lightly around in yours, calm and unyielding. "Home is whatever you make it to be, my dear. If you feel as if where you are right now is home, then it is. It can up and move with you wherever you want to go."

You had been taken by those words: the children's raucous laughter when play-fighting around the corridors, the food pranks despite all circumstances telling them not to, the way they huddled up close during the winter nights and slept away around you like a blanket: you loved them, and they mattered to you more than anything. Your home lived here, and everything fell into place.

(You knew that one day, that wouldn't be the case: you were nearing the limit age, and you'd avoided getting picked out like a fish in water. The caretakers knew you wanted to stay and had kept you since the children obeyed under your will - you couldn't very well tell them to never get you to leave, you did not want to rely on their ever-present kindness, but when you looked back and saw the people you've lived with for so long - taller, older, wearied and with more calluses by the sheer force of will alone and straggling behind you almost stopped with your mind whispering leave, leave, they are suffering and you must go, and then you blink and they have resumed their tasks with ease.)

Rage was a terrifying thing, and you hoped to God that whatever you did you would never resort to anger, that you wouldn't leave them behind because fighting and mending were the two things you knew best and squandering that meant death. These beaten souls shivered at night, sleepwalked to the kitchen from hunger, minds scarred beyond your reach because they'd already become like this before you'd ever arrived to meet them.

"I'm sorry," one boy had sobbed in your shirt as you'd huddled together underneath the open cabinets, back pressed to the refrigerator door. His hands were clenched in your shirt. You'd found him holding a kitchen knife, wielding it clumsily and in danger of cutting himself in the process. (We're all a little messed up sometimes, you tell him. This has happened before, many times over.) "I'm so sorry."  
"It's fine," you'd whispered back, rocking him back and forth. Mindlessly humming calmed the both of you, and for a moment you could briefly ignore the red stain that was blooming well past your shirt and into the monochrome tile that patterned the floor. "Don't worry about it, it's fine. You're alright."

And although you stood there now, surrounded by crumbling walls and runes covered by spiderwebs, your heart reminded you to keep going, they were waiting for you aboveground, don't stop, and you didn't because who were you to make them worry? You were the leader. You had things under control because staying controlled was part of the job description. You avoid, you survive, you keep moving.

You didn't trust in fairytales. After all, in this world, what more were they than just empty promises?

You'd briefly rested in an empty room after the encounter with the ghost, where a wooden sign read "Spider Bake Sale." You squinted down at the pricing, then checked the coins you'd found in your pocket. 21 g. You stood in front of the spiderweb and dropped the coins onto it, eyeing the small spiders that fall from above as they retrieved a couple of spider donuts for you. They placed the treats in your empty hand, waving various legs goodbye as they slowly climbed the threads back up. After contemplating the donut, you chomped down.

It filled you with warmth.

There was a light that shone faintly, you noted, watching it move in an entrancing pattern. How sunlight managed to reach this deep into the ruins, you would never know. Spots of light rose up and danced across the leather of your boot before you could fully comprehend it, mellowing the color into pale yellows and blurred circles of molten gold. You placed the other donuts into your pocket and continued on, brushing off the excess crumbs from your mouth with a finger.

You greeted the frog monster on your way down the hall. It didn't attack you immediately, which was both a surprise and a relief: you'd wondered why they were so keen on fighting as soon as they'd spotted you. They introduced themselves as Froggit, and you had bowed your head as you passed by which seemed to please them immensely. Since then, none of the creatures had chosen to attack you.

The paths changed yet again, and you spotted a tree bare of any of the scarlet foliage you'd seen earlier. Underneath one of the low-hanging branches lay innocently a small toy knife, hard and plastic but brittle to the touch.

You picked it up, examined it, and put it back down. The leaves rustled, and you quickly turned to face your possible assailant before they blindsided you.

The flower had returned.

"So," the flower - it, he - spoke, petals shivering. "You haven't met Toriel yet. You haven't fought anyone, either."

"No," you replied. You had relaxed just as quickly. His expression was set harshly in a scowl, but you found comfort in that. His posture seemed more veritable to analyze, more authentic. "I haven't."

"Stupid," he sneered, vines sprouting from the ground. White bullet seeds materialized from thin air, encircling you in a threatening manner. He glanced to your feet, and your eyes followed. He was looking at the toy knife. "You got a weapon, don't you? Pick it up."

"No need to fight you, shorty," you teased, and you ducked just as a bullet shot towards you. The bark of the trunk bit against your clothing as you moved behind it, hauling yourself up as the vines attempted to close in but failed to locate your position. The flower relocated just as you reached the top, finding you slinging one leg over while lounging in a carefree manner against a dry branch. 

"What's your name?" You ask him, propping your head on one hand. He stops, petals furrowing restlessly.

"Flowey," he snaps. "I'm Flowey. Flowey the flower."

"No you're not," you reply, and this time the vines do halt just before they reach your leg. "Who the heck names themselves Flowey the flower? Come on, dude."

"That  _is_ my name," he says, irritated, and you knock against the vine with your foot. Flowey jerks back. "Hey!"

"I'm Z," you say to him. "Z the human."

"'No, you're not,'" Flowey snarks back, and you grin. Was he saying you weren't a human or that your name wasn't Z? 

"You got me," you say sullenly, throwing one hand over your eyes dramatically as you lean further back against the trunk. From the corner of your vision you can see Flowey roll his eyes. "I'm actually a pink platypus monster in disguise. Oh, how the tables have turned."

The vine catches you by the ankle, and you are hanging off the edge of the branch. Flowey gives an experimental tug, but he doesn't pull you off entirely. "...How did you know?" He asks, quieter.

"I know a kid when I see one," you say, and the vine yanks itself back as if scalded. "You were hard to read at first, man, but you seem as though you're hiding quite a few secrets. A tough-sounding, temperamental kid with some stuff under the bed that you maybe don't want to show. That's cool. I won't look."

The flower bursts out in a spluttering growl, face twisting into something you don't recognize (something you do recognize, you've seen it in mirrors when you turn to look.) "I'm not a  _child_ anymore."

"Oh, kid," you breathe, smiling. "You get mad, you rage, you get angrier and angrier and you're terrified once you stop because that's when it all ends. That's what you are, and that's so hard to grow up from." 

(And wow, haven't you been there before? Too many times.)

Flowey visibly shakes, then falls still. "Let's try this again. My name is Z," you say, grin widening. "What's yours?"

"...It's Asriel," he murmurs, petals drooping and face lowered. The leaves seem to swallow him whole. He sounds so tired. "My name is Asriel Dreemurr."

Slowly, little by little, you two share conversation with each other. Asriel mentions a few things that you take note to remember: the falling humans, Chara's death, his descent into terrorizing the next human that falls down because he wants to be  _mad_  at mankind, the ones who'd taken his sibling away. You question him about the history between monsters and humans, and so he starts from the very beginning. Hours seem to have passed when he finally answers all your questions (with a relative weariness, you note, as if he has been asked this before.)

There are still niggling reminders burrowed in the back of your mind, but you ignore it. You stand up sharply once he finishes, grab a vine, and pull.

"H-hey!" He's mad, but not the slightest bit pained. You tug until he complies, roots pulling from the ground as he wraps around your arm. "Where are we going?"

You smile at the 'we' he says. "We're going to Toriel's, of course."

Flowey - Asriel - shakes his head vigorously. "No. She can't know. She's - she thinks I'm-"

"But you're not," you reply, cutting him off. Whether he would have said he were dead, or that he was a demon, you didn't care. He placed his face upon your hoodie, covering his expression from your glance.

"Thank you," he whispers, and his throat catches. Your heart trembles.

The goat woman - Toriel - greets you at the door when you knock. She takes in your dirtied form. "Oh," she says, paw coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh," she says again, eyes resting on the flower currently riding on your hoodie arm.

You press his petals close to your chest and hum. She invites you in, cautiously. You bow your head as the flower hides beneath your clothing.

Toriel excuses herself and goes to the kitchen to prepare for you as guests. Eventually the shaking stops: the vines settle and wrap around you slowly, carefully, like the hands of an unsure child who wants something but doesn't know how to say it. You murmur quiet whispers into the air, and the room becomes filled with sound: the crackling of the hearth, Toriel's cooking while in the kitchen, the sound of liquid tapping gently against a ceramic mug.

"Do you think...people can change?" Asriel asks you in the silence of the room, when he's calmed down completely.

"Of course," you say, hand patting lightly over his head. "That's not my choice to make, though. You've got to make it for yourself."

He starts to unravel, hesitates, then pulls tight. "Can I go talk to her alone?" He chokes, petals fluttering. You get up and take a walk outside.

Once upon a time, there were six children. That was how the story went. You probably weren't the seventh, considering you weren't a kid anymore, but that was okay, because you knew exactly how one lonely old woman who lived in the ruins felt, how one grieving child in the midst of their suffering felt, and you would hold onto that feeling until the bitter end.

You were at the tree with the toy knife again. You picked it up and nudged it gently back into place so that it rested above the leaves again, brushing aside any soil that had fallen over it in your brief strife. You noticed the carving in the trunk of the tree.

_CH + AS. Chara and Asriel._

You chuckle.

You made the return trip before the gnawing in your stomach reached astronomical levels - you ate another donut, but you were still rather hungry. Toriel ushered you back in, much to your chagrin. You were starting to feel like a kid again. "Clean up, now, dinner will be in a half hour. I'd like to speak with Asriel for a moment."  _Asriel._

You both share a small, secret smile at that, but you take the cue and go to the bathroom under her instructions. You couldn't hear anything through the walls with the sound of running water, so you shrugged off your hoodie and washed your hands. You take in your expression. You seemed...happier.

You heard snippets of muffled conversation once you left the bathroom, and you knocked twice on the wall to alert them before entering. Toriel's eyes were a little red and Asriel looked downright ecstatic, but he quickly smothered it with a scowl in your direction. You stick your tongue out.

"Is everything good now?" You ask, sitting down beside them.

"Thank you," Toriel says, leaning forward to embrace you in a warm hug. You reach out with your other hand to grab Asriel and pull him in, too. He yelps as his roots untug from the wood of the table. "I'll be back soon. One moment."

She gets up and heads to the hallway to the right. You turn to Asriel, but before you say anything he puts a vine up to stop you.

"Call me Flowey," he said, eyes averted. "I've been...Flowey...for such a long time that I think my mind's all messed up. Keep calling me Flowey."

"Sure," you say without a problem. The sound of Toriel's footsteps alerts you both as she returns with an empty flower pot. She reaches down and fills it with soil using another potted plant that stands somewhat tall in the living room.

"Here."

Flowey uncomfortably retracts his roots and sinks into the pot. The ground shifts, but that's about it. His vines fold into themselves a bit, but they stay mostly hanging out of the pot.

"Please come back."

Toriel says this to you this time. _You're going to leave_ is a quiet question left unsaid, but you know it was going to happen sometime and you were sure that Toriel had known it too. Flowey jerks up, a question in his eyes (you can't stay, you love them already but you can't.)

"...I'll text you every day," You finally reply, and the relief on Toriel's face is both heartwarming and sad. "I'll make sure to call often."  
"Three times a week," Toriel orders, but the smile tugging at her mouth makes it hard to stay serious.  
"Thank you."

You stay for dinner. Toriel sets the table and places Flowey in the spot next to you before you take a glance: the butterscotch-cinnamon pie was calling your name. Flowey chomps his down in three bites and attempts to take some of yours too, and although you push his face aside with a protective hand and Toriel tells you both that "we have more! Slow down!" and you're laughing so hard you nearly do choke, Flowey screams as you shove the pot off the table and it's one of the best times you've ever had.

And as Flowey is taken to his room (the children's room: the other side of the room with one lone bed makes your heart tighten), you make eye contact with Toriel and she waves goodbye silently as you head off below the stairs. You will miss her. You will miss them both.

But you had a life to live up aboveground, and damn everything that said you couldn't do what you set your heart to. You glare deep into the empty hall and walk forward.

Your soul swells with determination.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been planning on opening them up little by little, but I guess everything just came out in the second chapter. Oops
> 
> see y'all later


	3. Chapter 3

I have ten different things to do and this is the thing i prioritize. good decision-making choices, thats me

* * *

 

The stones surrounding the edge of the clearing trembled as the door closed shut with a thunderous  _boom_ , the sound echoing ominously as the trees echoed their call. The sky above spanned far further than initially expected, hanging stout stalactites that had the vague translucency of icicles. The temperature had dropped by several degrees, and the blinding contrast in color forced you to shield your eyes from the ground below: the dark, dreary colors of the ruins starkly differed from the undulating patterns of snow.

Your hands shake, so you shove them into your pockets. The bitter chill seeps through your clothing, and you wish your hoodie had a bit thicker lining inside: you had not planned for cold weather, after all.

The snow crunched underneath your feet as you walked through the door. As soon as your shoes hit through with the beginnings of frost, you had glanced automatically toward the forest with its high, barren trees, wondering if you had somehow managed to get yourself aboveground already. The lack of dense underbrush convinced you otherwise: the mountain had a lot of plant growth, and the trees did not appear to descend from the same species. You held your breath for a moment and listened.

There was the distinct sound of whirring when you moved, stepping forward but treading lightly.

Something more than a chill passed along your spine when you passed a blackened branch laid horizontally across your path. You had stepped over it, but not even a few seconds later you heard a loud  _snap_ echo behind you. You whirled, stance lowering and teeth bared: the bandages in your pocket shifted, waiting.

Nobody was there.

You went back to examine the area closer, taking care not to lose your footing and crouching to see better. There was a lack of second footprints near or atop yours, based on the markings on the bottom of your soles. You frowned, standing back up and brushing snow off your legs. The air now left several degrees colder, and you weren't sure if it was your imagination, but there was a hint of a chuckle.

The delta rune remains engraved in the back of your lids as you traverse down the trail, brow furrowing. You should have asked Flowey a bit more about the historical meaning of that symbol: it was emblazoned on the goat mother's clothing, along the sides of the runes, at the foot of the cavern you'd fallen into. There were lines of shelves there that you'd glanced at just before you left: reading the spines and opening the first few worn pages gave you ample information.

The second signal that someone was following you happened when you caught the sound of scuffling behind you as you passed a cluster of trees. This time, you practically sprinted as soon as you heard it. You ran as if you heard a gunshot. The bridge neared as you headed towards it without stopping.

The wooden boards creaked almost noiselessly as you stepped one foot onto them, but as soon as you did you froze in place. Not entirely out of your own will, no: when you tried to continue moving, your limbs froze and you nearly buckled under an invisible weight. Your eyes darted: once, to the left, twice to the right, searching, seeking. Your breathing slowed as you heard footsteps catch up behind you and resignedly you relaxed your limbs. Your form slumped over.

_(You felt locked into place. Sporadically you twitched various limbs, searching, seeking.)_

The footsteps came to a halt. You heard nothing for a moment, but as you turned your head a bit you couldn't see anything past where the treeline cut into your peripheral vision. The magic stopped you from aggrieving, but it also gave you little chance for escape.

" _Human."_

There was that cold chill again: it tingled at the back of your neck, and inadvertently your arm reached up to try and cover it but to no avail. It stopped around a quarter of the way up, somewhere just past your hip. It granted more leeway when you had expected, possibly from the initial lack of struggle. The pressure eased, but you stayed still: it was ten times more likely to return if you continued to fight against it.

" _Don't you know how to greet a new pal? Turn around and shake my hand."_

The first thing you see when you are finally able to turn your head are bones: the hand outstretched seems inanimate, almost comical in the way it is held out to you, and as you blankly eye the glinting blue highlight the bone gives as it scintillates convincingly next to the snow you can hear yourself snickering. You resume a stare-off as you take one look down, stare pointedly at the whoopie-cushion in his outstretched phalanges, and keep your hands adamantly in your pockets.

It was another skeleton. ( _You feel deja vu.)_

The dude - probably a dude, you guessed by the clothing choice, and the pink fuzz-layered slippers were a nice addition to the ensemble - laughed in that similiar chuckling tone, rattling a bit as he withdrew his trap. The trees seem to lean back a little, ominous feeling reduced to a still resignation.

"Hey," he says, greeting kind and friendly as if the first ten minutes of your entry into the sentry area had never happened. "I'm Sans. Sans the skeleton. You're a human, right? That's hilarious."

"Hello," you reply back. You're on edge, even as you physically unclench the fabric in your hoodie as to relieve the strain. "I'm Z."

He gestures behind you at the old-looking, worn wooden bridge behind you. The bars had looked like scaffolding for a moment, but you realized that they had been built more like the parts for a prison cell; however, the poles spread too far apart for them to be of any use in blocking out passerby.

"Yeah, you can just go right on through. It was supposed to keep people out, but...eh." You lean back to start eyeing him warily, taking on a degree of almost exaggerated suspicion before going through the bars and onto the rickety-looking bridge. It creaks, but that's about it.

"By the way, I'm supposed to be on the lookout for humans right now. I don't really care that much, though." He shrugs as if completely unconcerned of the underlying threat of this human in front of him. You step back a little to match pace with him, curiosity overtaking you. He jerks back a bit in an almost surprised manner.

"Why're you hanging back, dude? I don't bite," you tease, nudging him slightly with an elbow. He nearly gets knocked over by the force of your push. "Oops. Sorry. You're light."

The skull area below his eyes and across the bridge of his nose lights up with a faint, feathery hue of color. You blink and it's gone. "Uh, yeah," he stutters back, face shrinking back into his blue jacket. "Not like I have much weight on my bones, kid."

"Oh, no," you groan, putting your face in your hands as your footsteps stop. "You're a skeleton punner. I despise you."

His smile widens even further, if possible. He stops as well. "Can't get too  _sternum_  about it, buddy. Your words go  _right through me_ , you see."

"Get out," you shriek, and you begin walking again only to put your hands over your ears. "I can't hear you if I'm not listening!"

"Gotta patella you one thing, I had a coupla  _rib ticklers_ ready for you here."

"AAAAA-"

The lack of any further prints in the snow confused you a bit when in your harrowed recollection: knowing that nobody else had left the ruins, you were pretty sure that the other skeleton man would've wound up finding his way out by avoiding the other monsters as well. However, the door was hidden in the stairwell of Toriel's house, and you knew for sure that nobody else had stepped through those doors. Toriel was a furious caretaker. Your movement slows down, and Sans pauses to look back at you as you near a wooden post with a shingled roof, seemingly just as out of place as the cage of bars.

"Hey..." You tilt your head. "Actually, I think I might've met your brother already."

Sans frowns, an expression of confusion forming on his face. "Uh, where'd you meet him? I've been at this sentry station all day, but my brother hasn't come by once."

"Oh, never mind, then," you say quickly, but the feeling of discontent continued, hanging onto you like a lightly grasping cloak. You were missing a few key pieces, you knew it.

Sans watches as you move by, bones rattling. He glanced down, checking the soul within you without initiating a confrontation.

CHECK: 50 HP  
0 EXP  
LV: 0

*You're being followed. The skeleton awaits.*

He has the vague feeling that the skeleton isn't him. His posture tenses, but he follows after you just as warily. However, both their senses are evaded with ease. Beyond the tracks nearing the sentry station and close to the riverside, rushing waters frothing white at the edges, black ooze drips from the boat the riverperson draws.

* * *

adfgh

**Author's Note:**

> ok wow im writing undertale in 2018 what is this
> 
> goodbye


End file.
